


Sentimental

by liz_fic



Series: EAD 2019 [2]
Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 17:54:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17812691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liz_fic/pseuds/liz_fic
Summary: Another EAD fic. This one has a bit of pining. It was going to be a cross between a courting fic and a case-fic but yeah.





	Sentimental

Jim could hear Blair jump as the key scraped in the locking mechanism. Blair hit a few keys, clicked the mouse a few times and was taking calming breaths.

Jim opened the door, looking around warily; his hand unobtrusively placed near the weapon at his shoulder. "You ok, chief?"

"Yeah, sure." Blair clicked the mouse erratically, wincing as his voice cracked. "I'm fine."

"Whatever you say, Blair." Jim's tone clearly disbelieving however relieved as he hung up his coat, dropping his keys into the basket. "You care if we have pizza?"

"Oh, man!" Blair rushed to the kitchen. "I'm sorry, Jim. I forgot all about dinner." Blair opened the refrigerator and rifled through its contents hurriedly. "It'll just take me a minute."

Jim toed off his shoes, placing them neatly by the door before going after his partner who was frantically ransacking the fridge.

"Blair." He placed his hands over his guide's, stilling them. "Stop. I know you had court again today. The McMillan case is a nightmare. It's ok, Chief, really. Stop."

"Jim." Blair allowed himself to be pulled away from the fridge to a chair at the kitchen table.

"Relax," Jim ordered gently. "I called that pizza place a couple of blocks from Voss on the way up."

"The Flying Pizza?" Blair's eyes brightened, the younger man straightening briefly before slumping again. "Thanks, man."

"No problem, Sandburg." Jim twisted a chair around, straddling the back. "You wanna talk about it?"

"What's to talk about?" Blair shrugged picking at the placemat absently. "The defense attorney is trying to shred the case on McMillan by reason of insanity, and the ADA is pushing for life without parole. I have to be back in the morning, but you'll probably get called up tomorrow after lunch."

"We could try that new Thai buffet place for lunch," Jim stood up, turned the chair and pushed it back under the table, pausing awkwardly. "Um, unless you have plans for tomorrow?"

"What?" Blair looked at his partner blankly, before recognition dawned.

"Oh, um, no. I, uh, don't, but I can be out of the loft if you need me to, man. Really, I can stop by the library, or gym, or that new coffee shop on Manchester."

Jim was surprised into silence. He figured Blair would have at least a half a dozen women lined up at the door from before dawn to midnight.

"No, that's ok. I just didn't want to interrupt yours."

"You, me, and Snoopy then, huh?" Blair smiled.

"Don't forget the Little Red-Haired Girl down the street." Jim chuckled.

Jim couldn't remember the last time either of them had dated. Jim knew why he wasn't dating, but Blair's reasoning was a mystery. Gliding through the living room towards the stairs, he removed his sidearm and shoulder holster. Pulling a twenty from his money clip, he dropped it on the end table.

"Hey, Sandburg?" With Blair's focus, he continued, "I'm gonna go change and wash up. Here's the money for the pizza, in case it shows up before I'm done."

"But, Jim-"

"It's just dinner, Blair." Jim shrugged. "It's not the end of the world."

"But it's from the Flying Pizza place!" Blair looked incredulous as he walked over to his partner. His face softened as he stood before him. "It really was my night to cook, Man."

"You can cook tomorrow night." Jim patted Blair on the shoulder, "Ok, Chief?"

"Sure, Jim."

The sentinel smiled while going upstairs, content in the knowledge of another evening with his roommate.

~*~

Blair took another deep breath and looked around the loft for incriminating evidence. He saw the handwritten list for his ad peeking out from under his laptop and winced. Picking it up, he ran through the short list and looked back upstairs. Shaking his head at the stupidity of leaving the list out he stuffed it in between the cushion and the arm of the couch. Blair figured he could call the newspaper after dinner, and what were the odds that Jim would look on his side of the couch.

The Flying Pizza was the one food vice Blair allowed Jim to have without grumbling. Their pizza was amazing even if it probably had enough grease to lube the truck. Blair groaned inwardly at his choice of words. Bad enough he was half-hard every time Jim walked into the room in less than a jacket, but now he was jumping from pizza to sex with Jim via auto mechanics. Blair was startled out of his thoughts by a knock on the door. Picking up the money, he paid for the pizza and set the table.

Blair was putting the finishing touches on a salad when Jim came sniffing into the kitchen. "Smells great, Sandburg. Is that Bleu cheese and bacon?"

"Yep, but don't think I made enough for more than tonight, man." Blair grinned. "Your arteries couldn't take it."

"Hey." Jim gave Blair's shoulder a playful shove. "I thought we were leaving the Flying Pizza off the Sprout and Tofu propaganda train?"

"You're the one that brought the pizza up." Blair smirked, pulling a couple of beers out of the fridge. "*I* was talking about the dressing."

Dinner was finished, and the clean up went by quickly as Jim told Blair about their Captain's generosity, "A three-day weekend, Chief? It was weird, Blair. He was acting like I'd just given him a box of Cubans."

"Well, the mayor had been pressuring him about the McMillan case." Blair shrugged while drying the clean plate Jim handed him.

"Yeah, but we haven't even gotten a conviction yet," Jim argued handing Blair the salad bowl.

"But the CPD's out of it, except for testifying, and that should be over tomorrow." Blair turned to put the bowl into the right cabinet. "The rest is up to the courts. C'mon Jim, I wanna watch that show on SyFy." Blair tugged Jim towards the living room.

Jim grabbed their beers, allowing Blair to nudge him towards the couch.

"You got a thing for pointy ears and green skin, Chief?"

"Nope." Blair took a sip of his beer and mumbled the rest of his answer as he curled up on his end of the couch.

Jim shook his head. He could've sworn Blair said he had a thing for British armory officers. Must be hearing what I want to hear, Jim thought wistfully. The credits rolled before Jim spoke again.

"Not bad, Chief. I still think they're having sex."

Blair's heart rate jumped, which gave Jim a tiny bit of hope.

"Why do you say that?" Blair changed the channel to the Buffied cop show and saw the opening credits before being jumped by his sentinel.

"Their body language for one. Did you see how many times they looked directly into each other's eyes?" Jim grabbed both of Blair's hands in his left, pulling the remote free with his right. Jim changed the channel to the show about the guy from Cleveland. "How many men do that without some sort of attraction?"

Blair paused in his struggle.

"Either that or aggression, and there wasn't any posturing to go with the staring. Hmmph." Blair bucked as Jim held the remote out of his way.

"But are the scriptwriters doing it, or is there some underlying attraction between the actors?" Blair inched his fingers to the remote, changing the channel again while Jim pondered the question.

"That would depend on the actors." Jim grinned, switching the channel to back to the Cleveland show.

"Jim, don't you want to make fun of the lack of procedure and the stupid monsters?"

"Look, Chief, I really don't want to watch anything remotely related to work."

Jim kept Blair pinned in his corner of the couch before tossing the remote on the far end of the coffee table. Letting Blair up, Jim heard the crinkling of paper. Searching for, and finding the source between the cushions, Jim held up a piece of paper.

"What's this?" Jim read over the brief note:

WANTED: PLAYFUL, SERENE, FIERCELY LOYAL, WARM AND CUDDLY, WILLING TO STAND ON THE EDGE OF A CROWD

"You want a German Shepherd, Chief?"

"Ah, no," Blair took the page from Jim, pushing the older man away before switching the channel back to the weird cop show. "It's nothing, man."

Jim sensed, literally, that there was more to the story, but let it go for the time being. The sentinel flipped back to the comedy but blanched when he saw it had a cop, quickly changing the station back to the weird cop show. At least Blair could make it fun.

Jim tried not to notice the lack of Blair's usual enthusiasm. The sentinel was afraid it had to do with his crack about the dog, but that was the only thing Jim could come up with to fit.

"I'm going to take a shower, Chief." Jim briefly threaded his fingers into Blair's curls. "I'll save you some hot water."

"Thanks, Jim."

The morning saw both partners up early. Jim made coffee and took up his usual spot on the balcony. His eyes radiated peace as he looked beyond the city to the bay. Before too long, he heard Blair moving about in his room under the stairs. Jim smiled as a brief curse left Blair's lips when the younger man tripped over a book. From the sound of the thud, the slide on the floor, and Blair's careful handling, Jim had to guess that it was the Burton book. Jim's eyes crinkled in happiness, knowing that although Blair might be out of the academic world, he still read as much as he could about sentinels. Finding a secondary manuscript from Burton in a coworker's friend of a friend of a friend's attic was entirely unbelievable, but something that made Blair joyously happy.

Blair rushed out of his room and into the bathroom in a chaotic whirlwind of crumpled clothing, messy hair, and sleep-warmed scent. Jim smiled again, glad for once that he kept a few leftover habits from his stint in the Army. Twenty minutes later a freshly showered Blair stopped his headlong rush into the day as Jim calmly handed him a cup of coffee.

Blair sipped the brew gratefully, soaking up the all too precious mid-February morning sunshine.

"Thanks, Jim. Been up long?"

"Yeah." Jim took another sip of his coffee, absently watching a tug pulling a barge. "I just want to get this case finished." Jim tugged on his tie but never lost his smile. "I hate court."

"Remember, dial it to about a five. Okay, Jim?" Blair bounced on his feet. "I know it's boring, but I don't want you zoning on the defense attorney's closing argument."

"Don't you mean his aftershave, Sandburg?"

"That too." Blair grinned, slowly relaxing as he watched his partner studying his domain.

Jim glanced at the clock hanging behind the cash register in the bakery on Fourth. "It's almost eight. You have time for breakfast, Sandburg? I picked up some bagels after my run."

"If you'll toast them while I grab the rest of my stuff."

"Not a problem, Chief."

Blair studied his partner a few more moments before disappearing into his room.

Court was an unadulterated disaster for the defense. Not only did the evidence Jim and Blair collected prove premeditation; the defense attorney took a miscalculated risk in putting McMillan on the stand. The defense attorney couldn't predict McMillan's outburst, nor could he predict his client's defiance when he tried to stop the criminal's flow of words during the cross-examination, nailing the case shut with a witness-stand confession.

The sentinel felt a savage stream of satisfaction well up as another of society's dregs was separated from the people at large.

The new Asian place Jim chose for lunch was packed, even Jim's sentinel senses couldn't spot an open table. Blair was glad they walked; finding a parking place would've been a nightmare.

"You want to just take this home, Jim?"

Jim started to answer but was interrupted by his cellphone.

"Yeah, hang on a second, Chief." Jim flipped it open, barking a terse, "Ellison."

Jim's face twisted into an angry mask before blanking. Blair took a step back at the eerie change in his partner's face.

"Twenty minutes." Jim bit the words into his cell before snapping it shut. Glancing at Blair, he looked apologetic. "Sorry, Chief, we really will have to get this to go."

"Everything okay, Jim?" Blair peered up into Jim's eyes to read the truth ostensibly but was jostled by another patron and the moment was lost.

"Fine. Just have to take care of something." Jim passed his keys to a surprised Blair. "Grab the food and take it to the loft, okay? I'll be back in a few."

"Sure, man." Blair sounded a little worried. He pressed his hand to Jim's forearm. "You'll call if you need anything?"

Jim's face lost that cold, calculating look as he squeezed Blair's fingers.

"I will."

Jim glided through the busy restaurant, narrowly missing both server and customer, without incident. He could feel Blair's eyes on him but didn't stray from his goal. Harrison wanted him but had no clue exactly what he about to receive.

The precinct doors were open, but Jim's entrance was reminiscent of an old gunslinger barreling through batwing doors. The people in the lobby parted for Jim's smooth ascent to the elevators. Many remembered the cold-hearted SOB Ellison was before Blair became his partner, and edged towards the walls and door during the seven flights up to Major Crimes. Many even found reasons to get off the elevator early. Ellison was the sole occupant as the elevator doors slid open despite the buttons for eight, eleven, and fourteen being lit.

Jim stalked through the bullpen into Simon's office without bothering with the courtesy of a greeting or a knock.

"Jim, it's customary to knock before opening a closed door and entering someone's, who the last time I looked was your boss, office." Simon clamped onto his unlit cigar. Ignoring Simon's protests, Jim interrupted him bluntly.

"Carmenio Harrison called me this morning."

"Did you tell Sandburg?" Simon put the cigar into his clean ashtray. "No, wait, you don't have to tell me. By the look on your face and the lack of a curly-headed shadow, I'm guessing not."

"He's expecting me in," Jim looked at his watch before continuing, "twelve minutes."

A look of alarm crossed Simon's face. "What? You can't honestly-"

Jim cut Simon off.

"I can. Just tell Sandburg--" Jim swallowed heavily, dropping his badge, wallet, and keys onto a spluttering Simon's desk. "Tell Sandburg everything's his and that he'll find another sentinel, a better sentinel."

"Dammit, Jim. Jim!"

Jim walked out of the office without a backward glance, leaving Simon bellowing his name. As soon as Jim hit the outside of the bullpen doors, he started running. Sentinel senses eased his way through street vendors and pedestrians. Jim figured he would have about four minutes to spare before meeting with the man. Jim tossed his tie at a dumpster on his way, keeping his jacket, however, to conceal his shoulder rig. Grateful that he kept his forty-year-old body in fighting trim, he was barely winded as he stopped in front of Harrison Towers. 


End file.
